Page 44 of Miami Ice

“No, I really do,” I insist, smiling at him.

We reach the front counter, and Beckham glances down at the ice cream flavors under the glass display case. “Man, I haven’t seen some of these since I was a kid,” he exclaims.

I watch him, and his rich brown eyes have lit up with memories.

“Like what?” I ask, moving closer to him to see what he’s looking at. Suddenly I’m aware of a new scent. It’s not sugar or cream, or coffee brewing, or vanilla.

It’s Beckham’s cologne.

His spicy, sensualcologne.

I smell citrus first, but then I can detect spice. I can’t identify it, but it’s unique and incredibly alluring. The combination is both warm and sophisticated.

Did I say sexy? God, he smellsamazing.

“I used to always get bubble gum,” he says.

“Your cologne can’t be bubble gum!” I blurt out.

Then I gasp in horror at what I said, and I can’t stop my hand from flying over my mouth to cover it.

Now I have his full attention, and a smirk plays across his full lips. “Cupcake, I thought you wanted to know my ice cream choices, not what cologne I’m wearing. But that means you’ve noticed it,” he says, grinning mischievously at me.

I feel my face and neck grow hot. Very, very hot.

“But since you’re interested,” he continues, that sexy smirk still on his mouth, “it’s Acqua di Parma Zafferano. The woman who sold it to me said it has saffron and mandarin notes.”

Saffron. That’s it. That’s what makes his scent unique.

“Do you like it?” he asks, his eyes dancing at me.

If I could run through the back door of the shake café and lock myself in the freezer to get away from this embarrassment,I would. After all, I’m wearing my nutcracker sweater. I could tough out the cold temperature for a bit.

But I can’t run away from him, so I decide to tell the truth. “Yes, I do.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm what?”

“You know my cologne, but I don’t know your perfume. You obviously don’t baste in it, which I appreciate. But I think it’s fair that I get to know what you smell like. For our origin story, of course.”

OH MY GOD WHERE IS HE GOING WITH THIS?

“Do you wear it on your wrist?” he asks, his voice dropping to a low, sensual rumble.

I gulp. “Yes.”

“Do you have some on now?”

GAH!

“Yes,” I say, my voice coming out in a croaking sound.

“Cupcake, I’m not going to eat you. Just sniff you. May I?”

I don’t know why, but I nod.

Beckham takes my hand in his, and the second he does, I feel sparks flying everywhere. He carefully lifts my wrist to his nose and sniffs my skin. Then he lowers my hand, his fingers releasing mine, and smiles at me in triumph. “I knew it would be sweet. It smells like vanilla. And cookies.”

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